


it was always me and you

by sachiers



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Love, M/M, Nostalgia, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachiers/pseuds/sachiers
Summary: Ian is out of prison, and back at home—and he misses Mickey. A lot.Nostalgia ensues.“It felt like a lifetime ago, those years in which he had been the one to chase after Mickey. In which he had slowly—so slowly, so carefully—whittled away at the walls that Mickey had spent his entire life building around himself, piece by piece, and with bated breath; all the while waiting for Mickey to let his guard down enough, to trust him enough, to let him in.Always hoping, always waiting for Mickey to realize that he must be in love with Ian too, if only a little bit.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Liam Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	it was always me and you

“Can’t believe you’ve only been back half a day, and you’ve already managed to piss everyone off with your moping around the house, and talking about Mickey non-stop.”

It was evening, and Ian and Lip were seated at the Gallagher kitchen table; Ian eating the leftovers from their pizza order, and Lip smoking his cigarette away from little Fred—whom he had deposited in his crib in the next room—while giving Ian shit about missing Mickey.

“Fuck you.” Ian said without heat, and chucked the remainder of his pizza roll at his brother.

Lip snickered, and dodged it with a swift duck of his head.

Kev, Vee, and the rest of the Gallagher siblings were all dancing and laughing in the living room, still high on adrenaline, and all exuberance, celebrating Ian’s return back home.

“Reminds me of those days you spent moping around the house because he wouldn’t kiss you,“ Lip noted, clearly enjoying being able tease him again way too much.

This time, Ian had a snappy retort on the tip of his tongue ready, but he was interrupted by Fred wailing from the living room.

“Shit.” Lip stubbed out his cigarette quickly, and jumped up from his chair so forcefully that he sent it toppling, as he made a dash towards his son.

Ian smiled, feeling happiness rise up in his chest. He knew how much Lip had wanted a kid for years now. And seeing him care for little Fred, and love him this way … yeah, it was pretty amazing.

His smile softened, as he found his mind wander back to the time Lip had just talked of.

It felt like a lifetime ago, those years in which _he_ had been the one to chase after Mickey. In which he had slowly—so slowly, so carefully—whittled away at the walls that Mickey had spent his entire life building around himself, piece by piece, and with bated breath; all the while waiting for Mickey to let his guard down enough, to _trust_ him enough, to let him in.

Always hoping, always waiting for Mickey to realize that he must be in love with Ian too, if only a little bit.

There really wasn’t any other way to put it; he’d been smitten with Mickey. Completely, helplessly, irreversibly _smitten_.

And when he’d finally, finally felt Mickey’s lips pressed against his, soft, and warm, and with _Mickey_ being the one to initiate it—though the kiss had lasted barely longer than a few seconds, just enough for his mind to register what was happening—it had felt less like a revelation, than a confirmation of what he’d already known.

He loved Mickey.

It had gone beyond those butterflies in his stomach whenever he thought about him, the way he felt positively blissed out after spending time with him, whether it’d been all of five minutes of sharing a smoke, or spending an entire night at the dugouts shotgunning beers and fucking, or just hanging out watching movies, and playing video games.

He loved him with a love that went bone-deep, and was all-consuming, and … yeah, kind of felt like the forever kind of love.

(Ian wouldn’t realize until much later that it really was the forever kind. And he would be lying, if he said that he didn’t feel himself tearing up at the thought, now.)

He wondered how Mickey remembered those days.

Lip appeared back at the table, lighting a fresh cigarette he had pinched between his lips.

“You should see the look on your face, man,” he said, after throwing a quick, assessing glance at him. “Still as whipped as ten years ago, damn.”

Ian had been about to ask Lip where Tami was, but halted, his brother’s words stirring something in him.

Something … painful. Raw.

“It’s …“ Ian grasped for words he didn’t have, trying to explain the things he’d been turning up, down, and sideways in his head, ever since Mickey and he had had their talk about their relationship.

Trying to explain how the tables had turned a long time ago, how Mickey had been the one doing the chasing for longer than him now; grounding him, making him feel safe, and loved, and _alive—_ literally, and figuratively.

How saying that he, Ian, taking it for granted through so much of it was barely scratching the surface of what had occurred, and how, whenever memories of his own actions inevitably pierced the veil between his subconscious and conscious, it still sent white-hot pain searing through him, images and words of the past flitting through his head mercilessly.

“Do you ever … I don’t know, feel like you’re so fucking lucky, and don’t deserve any of it?” he finally said.

Lip paused, and took a deep drag from his cigarette, blowing out smoke in circles towards the ceiling, as he contemplated Ian’s question.

“Yeah, man. Every single time I look at Fred.“

Ian grimaced. Yeah. Not the same thing.

“Mickey … he’s done a lot for me.” He couldn’t even begin to describe the enormity of what Mickey had done for him, time and time again, didn’t believe mere words could encompass them—but he knew he needed to start somewhere.

“I wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t for him.”

Lip was nodding, though, and Ian felt like maybe his older brother understood where Ian was coming from. He’d seen Mickey care for him, protect him, all throughout his first manic episode, after all.

Before Ian could elaborate, he felt someone jump on him from behind, hugging him.

“We’re playing werewolf, come on!” Liam shouted excitedly, already skipping away again, before Ian had the chance to turn around.

“No, we’re not!” Carl’s voice came from the living room.

“Weewoof!” Ian heard Franny in the background.

“Hey, how about you postpone your existential crisis about being a shitty boyfriend until after you have some fun with your siblings?”

Ian couldn’t help the reluctant grin from forming on his lips, murmuring an “Asshole” at Lip, who wore a matching grin on his own face, as he got up.

He chased after Liam, and caught him around his waist on his way to the others, spinning him around in a circle, before setting him down again.

“C’mon, then. Let’s play.”

*

Ian did not, in fact, have an existential crisis about being “a shitty boyfriend”, after having some fun with his siblings.

He had it during their first round of werewolf, at Carl’s suggestion that Lip must be a werewolf, since he’d abandoned them during a critical town vote with the lame excuse of having to check on Fred, when the baby monitor hadn’t picked up so much as a peep from the peacefully slumbering baby.

When he watched the others cheer and laugh, and found his thoughts straying to Mickey once again; still in prison, alone.

He knew he couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t change the fact that the last time Mickey had waited for him in prison, it had been in vain.

But this time would be different, he had made that promise to himself.

And he hoped with all his heart that Mickey knew it, too.


End file.
